


Aftermath: The Battle of Denerim

by CarnationGem (Akumeoi)



Series: Ciavran [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Injury Recovery, Recovery, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/CarnationGem
Summary: After the Battle of Denerim, Warden Tabris wakes up alone in her tent. She overhears a conversation.





	Aftermath: The Battle of Denerim

Ciara opened her eyes.

That in and of itself was a miracle. What was equally miraculous was that, though the space around her was blurry and bright and generally giving her a headache, it was a space she knew well: the inside of her tent. The brightness was coming from the sun filtering in through the flap of the door.

As she blinked back the tears forming involuntarily in the corners of her eyes, she began to register discomfort in other parts of her body. There were stones digging into her back. Who had laid out this bedroll? It wasn’t set out the way she would have done it. There were bandages all over her body. In the battle before, the adrenaline had kept her from paying too much mind to her injuries. But now she could feel them stabbing at her, throbbing - her upper thigh, her shoulder, her hip. Strangely, all the muscles of her back, side, and stomach were painfully bruised, as if someone had tackled her to the ground. But no, she must have simply fallen. Who knew slaying an archdemon would hurt so much?

There were also sounds drifting in from outside - armour clattering, people walking and talking, a Mabari barking, somewhere. It wasn’t her Mabari. Too pitchy. Besides, he knew better than to behave like that, even without her around. She wanted nothing better than to shut that stupid dog up, as each bark sent shoots of pain running through her head. It was very hard to concentrate.

 _Do I dare get up and find out where I am?_ Ciara wondered. The tent was familiar, but where was it pitched? Denerim was in ruins. Was she in Denerim?

The first test was to see if she could even move. Rolling onto her side with a groan, she found that although moving hurt a great deal, it was definitely not impossible. With a slow and tentative hand, she lifted the blanket to find that she was wearing nothing but her undergarments, which would definitely pose another challenge. There was no way she was getting into armour in this state, but perhaps her peasant clothes would be around here somewhere?

Grimly, Ciara forced herself up into a half-sitting position, propped up on her elbow. Her body cried out as her stiff muscles strained, but she knew this soreness could be worked out as long as she didn’t overexert herself.

Her head was a little clearer now. Perking up her ears once more, she thought she could detect one voice that was more distinct than all the rest, closer to the walls of her tent, as if the speaker were sitting right up against them. After looking around, she saw that there was a shadow on the fabric of the tent to the right of the entrance. But it wasn’t very person-shaped. It was too lumpy. Two people?

Curiosity piqued, as if she didn’t already have questions enough, Ciara finally sat up all the way. As she rolled her shoulders and neck gently from side to side, her eyes fell upon her pack, which had been placed at the foot of her bedroll. After slowly looking through it and finding a serviceable brown dress, which she gingerly slipped on, she sidled up to the flap in the front of the tent and tried to hear who was speaking outside.

Her heart leapt in her throat. The accent was unmistakable. It was Zevran who was guarding her tent. And from the sound of it, he was talking to her dog. That would explain why the shadow was so lumpy.

“Look, if you want to wait out here with me, you will have to be more calm than that. I do not take kindly to having dog hair all over my clothing. Is Wynne about, I wonder? Perhaps she could take care of you. You certainly need a bath, my friend,” Zevran was saying. Ciara smiled when she heard the conversational tone he was using to talk to Dog. It always amused her how her friends treated Dog as a full party member, in spite of the fact that he only ever whined or growled in response to them. To this latest remark of Zevran’s, Dog let out a plaintive whimper.

“Yes, I know. You are worried about the Warden.” Zevran sighed. “I wish I could give you good news, but nobody knows yet if she will wake up. What do you have to say to that, I wonder?”

Dog growled sharply in disagreement.

“Maybe you are right. She is still alive after all.” Zevran didn’t sound too convinced.

But there was the miracle again. She should have died slaying the archdemon, but she had not. A sudden jolt of fear shook her to her core. _What if Alistair died in my place?_

The shock was so urgent that Ciara decided to forgo regaining feeling in her legs in favour of finding out just what the hell was going on. With a little effort, she was able to push aside the flap of the tent and peer out into the bright noon light. As she had suspected, they were camped out in the ruined streets of Denerim. But it seemed that it wasn’t just her party; there were so many soldiers about that she could only surmise that the armies of the Arl of Redcliffe had set up camp nearby as well. And look - there was Sten, speaking with a group of soldiers. And there was Leliana, reading a book of some kind. And there was Oghren, and Wynne. And there - thank the Maker - was Alistair, talking to the Arl of Redcliffe. Merciful Andraste.

Her fears assuaged, Ciara turned her gaze to the side of her tent, and found Zevran with one hand on Dog’s back, staring at her as if she had just risen from the dead. He wasn’t in armour, but street clothing, which was very unusual and a little strange, but not unpleasantly so. Ciara’s eyes immediately locked with his, and though she was still quite sore and weary, seeing the concern in his face made her suddenly relax. _Zevran, my dearest._

“Ciara… Warden… My love, I…” he began, but seemed unable to get a complete sentence out. Taking advantage of his hesitation, Dog wriggled out from under his hand and started licking Ciara’s face.

“Ouch, ouch, Dog, no. Down, boy. Oh no, you’ll put bruises on my bruises. Don’t,” she begged. Dog sat back on his haunches and peered at her worriedly, his head cocked to one side.

“I’m fine. I’m really fine. Good boy. Please don’t lick me anymore.”

Dog gave a short, serious bark, then lay down with his head on his paws, his doggy face wrinkled in concentration. Ciara surmised he planned to guard the tent, to keep anyone else from licking her face and bruising her bruises. She gave him a quick pat on the head, then turned back to Zevran.

“You. Get in here,” she said, and he wordlessly nodded in agreement.


End file.
